Show Me How (11 page)

“Fuck, Charlie . . .” He grabbed my forearm and turned me around, his shoulders now sagging with the weight of some invisible stress as his large hands moved up to grip mine. “I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry.”

The depth of his apology stunned me, but it didn't change what I saw. What I'd felt and let myself believe . . . how he'd lied to me and forgotten about me. My head shook, but he continued.

“I fucked up, I know. I have never been more aware of anything in my life than how much I've messed up with you. I got stuck at the garage tonight, I swear to God.”

“I'm sure you can understand why I don't believe you,” I bit out, and hated that my eyes burned with unshed tears.

Deacon Carver hadn't deserved my tears then, and he most certainly didn't deserve them now. Not when he could see them, not when he could get a glimpse into how much he'd hurt me.

“Give me a chance to make it up to you.”

“No!” I huffed sadly and shook my head furiously. “You told me exactly what you thought of me. You forced me to stand there so you could apologize and somehow got me to agree to let you make it up to me. And then you made me look like an idiot because I so stupidly let myself believe for one second that you might actually care about someone other than yourself! Because I believed that you would actually show.”

“Charlie, I do, and I meant to,” he ground out. “I nev—­”

“No, you don't get to try to tell me how you
intended
to be there for me
after
you finished screwing someone else.”

His large hands tightened around my shoulders, not uncomfortably, but like he was pleading with me through his touch alone.

But I wasn't finished.

Deacon should know better by now. If I thought about something long enough, if I imagined how a conversation would go in my mind enough times, once I finally started talking about it I wouldn't stop until I said every last word.

“And now look where we are . . . with you forcing me to stand still so you can apologize and ask me to give you another chance.” I forced a laugh from my chest, but it sounded wet from my tears. “How many times can you make me look like an idiot before it stops being some sick, hilarious joke to you?”

He flinched as though I'd slapped him across the face. “You think I find this funny? You think this is a joke to me?”

“What else could it be?”

My breath came out on a rush when my back suddenly hit a wall. Deacon's body was flush against mine, pinning me in place, his face was a breath from mine.

And, God, I hated him for making me want to beg him to close that distance.

Every rough breath brushed my chest against his.

Every touch incited something inside me I had been so sure I would never feel again.

His hands moved slowly across my shoulders, the tips of his fingers barely grazed against the slope of my throat until his large hands were cradling my neck and his thumbs were brushing along my jaw.

His eyes followed the movements of his hand, as if he was memorizing the path they took, the curve of my neck.

My heart beat wildly in my chest, begging to be freed.

Begging to be seen by this man.

“Tell me, Charlie Girl,” he said roughly as his nose brushed against mine. “This . . . does this feel like a joke? Because the hell you've been putting me through for the past two weeks sure as fuck hasn't felt like one.”

I blinked up into those eyes, those eyes that were once so cold and unforgiving but now held a heat unlike anything I'd ever seen before.

“That I've put
you
through?” I whispered in disbelief.

One of his hands moved up so his thumb could brush across my cheek, but I was so captivated by his stare and the feel of his hands on me and his body pressed against me that I couldn't find it in me to be embarrassed that he'd wiped a tear away.

“I can't stop thinking about you,” he admitted gruffly. “I can't stop seeing you even when I try to force the thought of you away. I can't stop wanting you, needing you. All I've thought about since Knox's wedding is feeling you like this again.” His body pressed harder against mine, emphasizing his words. “To go through all of that day in and day out with a girl I know I should never have, with a girl I've forced to hate me, has been the purest form of hell.”

His words were ecstasy and agony all at once.

A girl I know I should never have.
Deacon's words swirled around and around in my mind until they were all I knew.

So similar to ones Ben had said so many years ago before he'd destroyed my heart, and yet so different coming from the man holding me.

My heart and my mind and my body were screaming so many different things I couldn't think straight. I wanted to hate him and kiss him and slap him and beg him to say it all again so I would know I hadn't imagined it.

My head shook faintly. “You . . . no. The girl. I saw her . . .”

Deacon flinched and his eyes shut. When he looked at me again, he looked like he was in pain. “I said I tried to force away the thought of you.”

“You disgust me,” I breathed.

It was all coming back to me.

Ben telling me he loved me even though he knew he shouldn't. Taking my virginity and promising me a future with him, then asking Grey to marry him two days later because he was afraid to lose the years he'd had with her. Calling me a mistake because he wasn't
in
love with me.

Watching as he pushed the thought of me, of us, away because he was scared.

And now Deacon forgetting about me because he was having sex with some nameless girl—­all because he was trying to force the thought of me away.

I didn't understand what it was about me that made guys want to drown out the thought of me with another woman, but it hurt.

God, it hurt.

“That's nothing I don't already know, Charlie Girl.”

My head shook harder. “You're disgusting. Let me go and get out of my house,” I said through gritted teeth as another tear fell, and then another. No matter how hard I tried to keep them away, I couldn't stop them.

I
hurt
.

I wanted to be wanted, wholly and unconditionally. Just once.

“Christ, Charlie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he whispered soothingly, and wiped at my cheeks. “I'm sorry, please stop crying.”

“
Leave
.” I pressed against his chest, but he didn't move away. “Let go of me!”

Deacon's hands immediately left my face and landed on the wall on either side of my head, but his body didn't leave mine. Instead, he dipped in closer until his lips were at my ear, just like the day before, and said, “I'm an asshole. I've lived the last—­God, I don't know how long, just waiting for the next girl, and the next. Names and faces didn't matter, just as long as they were gone as fast as they got there. You want me to go, then I'm gone. But I know I won't get this chance again, so just listen.

“I've never been haunted by a girl the way you haunt me, Charlie Easton. It wasn't because I hadn't had you, or because I knew I shouldn't. That knowledge and everything I felt scared the shit out of me, and I knew I had to do something to put an end to it. So, yes, I fucked up. I will apologize forever if I have to, but know that I've never hated myself, or how I am, more than I did that day. And you? All I saw was you, more than ever.”

One of his hands slowly fell from the wall back to my cheek, and he pulled back to look into my eyes. Indecision, fear, and need swirled in their light depths.

“Hurting you has killed me. Unaware . . . yeah? I get it now. Maybe with everyone else, but I've never been more aware of anything or anyone.”

My body sagged against the wall when he pushed away, and after another second, he turned and stepped away.

I needed to let him go.

Step.

A guy like Deacon Carver would only do what Ben had done, and more.

Step.

But my body was screaming in protest the loss of his touch, and I'd only lost it seconds ago.

Step step.

I swallowed past the tightness in my throat and dropped my head to stare unseeing at the floor.

Step.

I pushed down all of my fears—­of rejection, of getting my heart broken, of simply speaking my mind on a whim, and said, “This is usually the part of the book where the hero kisses the girl.”

Silence.

“I don't know how to be that hero, Charlie Girl.”

I slowly lifted my head and found Deacon facing me. Chest moving with each exaggerated breath, hands slightly flexing like he didn't know what to do with them.

“If you want me to be that guy, I would only hurt you more.” But even as he spoke the words, he took a ­couple steps back toward me. “I can't compete with whatever it is you read.”

If only he knew that he wasn't so different.

I lifted a shoulder. “This is also a house of superheroes.”

Deacon smirked. The slant of his lips challenged and warned and promised.

My stomach warmed at the sight, my body was already buzzing with anticipation.

“Now
that
I can compete with.”

He ate up the distance in two steps, and pulled me from the wall as his mouth fell onto mine.

One of his hands pressed against the small of my back, molding our bodies closer and closer, the other curled around my neck again. Cradling and guiding, strength and tenderness.

I clung to his shirt as our mouths moved in perfect sync, trying to hold on to this kiss that was everything.

Everything I'd dreamed of.

Everything I'd craved.

Everything I'd never had.

Because Deacon was holding me like he was afraid of letting me go, and I wasn't trying to hold him closer, afraid he
would
.

His thumb pushed against my jaw to tilt my head back farther, and his tongue hesitantly brushed against the seam of my lips. Asking. Begging. Creating chaos within my body.

My mouth opened with an inhale, and a soft moan slid up my throat when his tongue met mine in a perfect dance. The push and pull, the desperation and need, all in a space that felt as though time would stand still at any moment.

The kiss slowed, Deacon's lips moved across my jaw and down my neck until his mouth was at my ear. “If I don't stop myself now, I'm taking you to the couch and laying you down, and I know I won't want to stop then.” His teeth grazed the skin just below my ear when he finished, and a growl rumbled in his chest when a shiver moved down my spine. “Christ, Charlie.”

I continued to stare at his chest as I wondered what would happen now that the kiss was over. My world felt like it was tilted, just waiting to find out which way it was supposed to turn next. That kiss had been more than I ever expected it could be, but this was still Deacon.

He could still leave.

I couldn't figure out if I needed to guard myself and my emotions, or allow myself to stay in this surreal moment for a little longer.

“What now?” I asked softly.

Deacon pulled away from me, his light brown stare bouncing all over my face and staying on my lips longer and longer each time, as his eyes darkened with heat. Without warning, he pressed a quick, rough kiss to my mouth, then spoke against my lips. “Now . . . I take you on a date to your kitchen table, and hope like hell that you give superheroes third chances.”

 

Chapter Thirteen

Deacon

June 15, 2016

K
NOX AND
G
RAHAM
'
S
loud voices met me as soon as I set foot inside the house that night, and, for a second, it felt like it always had. Back before Knox had found Harlow again, and married her. Back before I would have done anything to make Charlie Easton mine—­back before I wanted to make any girl
mine
, period. Back before I had to constantly talk myself down from punching one of my best friends.

I curled my arm around Harlow's neck, and pulled her in so I could kiss the top of her head when I found her walking out of the kitchen. “Hey, Warrior.”

Harlow narrowed her eyes suspiciously when she pulled away, and looked me over quickly. “That was one of the quietest, most unenthusiastic greetings I've ever received from you. You okay, Deacon?”

I had no fucking clue.

Yes, yes I was. Because I'd just spent the past few hours with Charlie. Because I'd kissed the hell out of that mouth and held her as close as I could stand before I gave in to a need I knew she wasn't ready for yet.

But I still didn't know what I was doing. I had never been this guy before, and, again, I couldn't be the kind of guy she wanted. I wasn't some hero in one of those books she hid behind.

As I told Words, I wasn't a white knight. I didn't sweep girls off their feet.

After a few hours, I already felt like I was stumbling around, fucking terrified for when I hurt Charlie again.

Graham laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the house and pulling me from my thoughts only to remind me of what I'd walked in on earlier that night.

I forced a quick smile in Harlow's direction. “Yep. Just gotta take care of some stuff.”

I followed her into the living room where Knox and Graham were sitting on the couches, and clapped Knox's back as I passed him to sit in the only chair.

“Where've you been?” Graham asked with a sly grin.

One of my eyebrows ticked up in response, and I stared at him like he should already know the answer. “Charlie's.”

Graham's grin fell. “This whole time?” He looked at his wrist, then grabbed for his phone to get the time. “Deac, I left you there over two hours ago.”

“Oh, did she find a place to live?” Harlow asked excitedly.

But Graham didn't respond, and when I spoke, it was directed at him. “You're my best friend, I refuse to compete against you for her.”

“Compete—­what?” Graham stammered.

“But I'm gonna give you right now to tell me if there's something going on before I ask you to back the fuck off.”

“Whoa,” Knox said with a hesitant laugh. “What did we miss while we were gone?”

Graham looked floored. “What the hell are you talking about? Are we talking about Charlie?
Little
Charlie Easton?”

I winced. “Don't call her that.”

Knox's laugh boomed throughout the living room. “Oh man . . . this is rich.”

“What do you mean,
compete
?” Graham asked, confusion still covering his face. “What the hell would we be competing for when it comes to her?”

“You're the one who is always checking on her, making sure she's okay. You were the one who got her to dance at the wedding. You helped her find a place to live,” I added, going down the list of things I thought of on repeat. I would have asked about the date this weekend if Charlie hadn't told me earlier that Keith had been her “date.” “Tonight I fucking walked in and you were kissing her.”

“Oh!” Knox hissed as Graham jerked back and clarified, “Her head. I kissed her head. Let me remind you that you kiss my sister's head all the damn time.”

“And Harlow's,” Knox murmured.

“Where is all of this coming from anyway?” Graham demanded. “You've been treating her like shit.”

“Yeah, no need to remind me; I do that enough myself.” I sighed roughly and scrubbed my hands over my face. “Look, I just need you to tell me if there's something going on between you.”

He laughed hard once. “Deac . . . it's
Charlie
. I mean, don't get me wrong, some time in the last few years she's grown up and she's fucking gorgeous, but she's still little Charlie Easton. She's my brother-­in-­law's little sister.”

I shook my head slightly. “Stop with the
little
thing.”

Knox huffed, his chest moved with his silent laughter. “I don't know, I kind of want to focus on it. I mean, Harlow and I had to endure years of bullshit from both of you because she's two and a half years younger than me, and Charlie is . . .” He trailed off, waiting for me to finish. When I didn't, he guessed, “Five years younger than you? Six?”

“Four.”

Knox smiled knowingly. “How's that crow taste, Deacon? Eat some more.”

“Man, I already apologized for that shit long ago.”

“Yeah, but I think you're just now realizing how wrong you actually were to use her age against me.”

If that wasn't the truth. I sat back in the chair, and mumbled, “Bitter. Tastes really fucking bitter. I'm sorry, for all of it.”

I knew from Knox's expression that I hadn't needed to apologize again, he was just enjoying tormenting me a little more than I already was.

“For the record,” Harlow said, speaking up to break the silence that had fallen between us, “I think Charlie is a very sweet girl, and I think her quiet would be the perfect balance for a guy like you.”

I sent her a thankful smile, but it fell when Graham said, “You know, Charlie isn't the kind of girl you screw once or twice, then never talk to again.”

“I don't know why ­people keep saying that, like I'm not already completely aware of that.”

Graham sent me a knowing look. “Because I know how you are, just as you know how I am.”

My head shook as I tried to figure out what to tell Graham, as I tried to figure out what was going on between Charlie and me at all. “This is different,” I finally said.

My phone chimed in my pocket, and without thinking, I pulled it out to look at who had messaged me.

My body locked up when I saw her name with a picture below, too small to make out on the lock screen.

Words
.

I immediately opened up the messages on my phone, and stood from the chair to head for my room, but stopped when Graham's voice ricocheted off the walls.

“Deacon, what the fuck?” He was pointing at the phone in my hands, his face set with a rage I'd felt all too often when I'd seen him lately. “This is exactly what I just meant! I
know
you, man! Is that Charlie?”

“No, she has my real number,” I said automatically, defensively.

From Graham's expression, it was both the wrong and right answer. “I told you that Charlie isn't the kind of girl you screw and then leave, but she also isn't the girl that you keep screwing around on, either. You come home and try to start shit, demanding me to tell you about something that wasn't even happening, and all the while you still have Candy? You get up and leave the second it goes off? I mean, thank Christ you didn't put Charlie's number in
that
phone, but are you kidding me?”

I didn't know how to defend myself or Words to them, when I knew they wouldn't understand. I wouldn't even know how to explain it. Like everything else in my life lately, I was still trying to figure it out. One day, one message, one mind-­blowing kiss at a time.

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Deac,” Knox said warily. “I'm all for you being with Charlie if it meant what we all thought it did just a ­couple minutes ago. But this?”

“No, this isn't okay,” Graham finished. “You can't do this to her.”

“Even if I could explain it, you wouldn't understand. Just trust me, the last thing I'll be doing is sleeping around on Charlie.”

“Deacon—­”

“I gotta go.” I ignored Graham trying to call me back as I headed to my room. The entire time my body was vibrating with anticipation as I hurried to pull up the picture Words sent.

It was another shot of her journal, like I'd gotten a week ago. My eyes skimmed quickly over the top that was scratched out, then to what was written below.

You can't believe it's daylight

We stayed up again all night

Just ta Talking just cause you like the way I make the words sound

You can't believe it's daylight

We stayed up again all night

Talking just cause you like the way I make the words sound

I triple-­double dare you

Fess up and make the first move

You need me like I need you

That's why you come around here

Cause you know I've always been the one

Who listens to your sad songs

The shoulder that you cry on

Out on that ledge you walk on

When you're sinking

Who keeps your secrets locked up

When there's no one you can trust

I know it's much more than just wishful thinking

Just say the words and you know I'll be there

I read the new lines over and over again before saving the picture and swiping it away so I was back in the messages. She'd sent nothing else, just the song. It wasn't like her.

I glanced at her writing again in the smaller version of the picture on the text, then tapped on my screen as the weight of my conversation with the guys fell off my shoulders.

The one?

Words . . .

I thought her response would never come. My amused smirk slowly fell as the minutes passed, and I'd nearly gotten to the point where I started messaging her again when the dots suddenly popped up on the screen.

Words:
It's just a song.

Words:
No need to let a ­couple words in it freak you out.

A crease formed on my brow, and I hurried to respond.

They didn't.

Words:
I'll change it.

Words:
I wrote the new part this weekend because of our conversation, I just hadn't sent it to you yet.

Hey, stop. What's going on . . . are you okay?

I was messing with you when I sent those first texts. I wouldn't have done it if I would've known that this would happen.

Five minutes passed without a response.

And then another five.

Words, talk to me. I'm here listening to you. Remember?

With each minute that passed, I got closer and closer to doing something I swore I would never do—­calling her. I wasn't ready to lose her. I knew I couldn't keep her, but I couldn't let her go yet, either.

Words:
I think tonight might not be a good night to talk, Stranger.

Words:
I'm sorry.

What the fuck. Words, what's wrong? Fucking talk to me.

If it was how I responded, then I'm sorry. I was teasing you about it. You and I both already know how the other feels about it, that hasn't been a secret.

Words:
It's not what you said.

Words:
I'm sorry, but I have nothing that I can say to you.

That hurt more than it should have. It was the smallest glimpse of what it would feel like when she disappeared from my life, and it fucking hurt. I stared at her response for long seconds before typing back.

Tell me what I did so next time I can avoid it. Tell me what to do so I can try to make it up to you. Tell me something, anything, so I can stop thinking that you're about to walk away from this.

Watching those three dots, waiting for her response, was agony.

Words:
Nothing, Stranger. Nothing. And walk from you? Like you said, I don't know if I'd be able to.

Then talk to me.

What could have happened between when you sent the song and when you next texted me?

Words:
A lot . . .

Words:
I don't know how to talk to you tonight. I don't know what to say to you. Everything that is running through my mind right now is too personal, and we don't do personal.

You know me better than anyone. I know you, Words.

Words:
Not like this. This would change things.

Try.

Long minutes passed, but this time I gave her the time she needed and tried to stay patient as I waited.

Words:
To put it as simply and vaguely as I can . . .

Words:
I was asked something, and it made me want to tear myself away from every happiness that I've recently found, and any I could possibly find in the future.

Words:
It was innocent, really. The person had no clue what kind of devastation they would inflict on me by asking, but it feels like even my soul is crying now. Everything hurts. It hasn't hurt like this in so long.

I felt helpless. I needed to reach through the phone and grab her, pull her into my arms and not let her go. But she wasn't real.

You're not going to tell me what the question was, are you?

Words:
I can't.

Words:
And that's why tonight isn't a good idea. I don't have anything I can say to you.

I think that's why tonight is a perfect idea. I can't leave you when you hurt.

Words:
I won't be any fun.

I doubt that.

Words:
I'm crying.